Outlived Usefulness
by CreativeWords
Summary: One-shot. Mad-Eye is called into Scrimgeour's office to discuss his options after a trip to St. Mungo's. Please R&R!


There were two new desks in the office.

Alastor let his left eye swivel backwards, searching the cubicles. Yes, to the left, near the back. Two more spaces carved out of the familiar chaotic organization. It was impossible to tell, based on the sparse decorations, which two of the Auror candidates had passed their final exams. He'd lay down a galleon one of them was Dawlish, though his reflexes weren't what they should be. The lad was persistent enough to make it.

A movement on the right caught his attention. An orange puffskein gamboled in a transparent cage on the first desk. Lettie McDunstan must have taken advantage of his absence to bring in her pet. Alastor's hand tightened on his wand in irritation, magic eye darting around the office. He'd set her straight once and for all why pets had no place in the office.

"Mad-Eye!"

He turned, etching the barest of smiles out of the granite of his set jaw.

"Rufus."

"Fully recovered, I see."

"Oh, aye." Alastor shrugged. "It'd take more than a few Stunners to stop this old heart. Just let Holton try that again."

Rufus Scrimgeour laughed. Alastor did not.

"Come into my office, won't you?" It was a question, politely put, but with Scrimgeour's unquestionable brand of authority woven into the tone.

He stumped behind his superior to the far end of the room, the only office with a door in this department. It wasn't really that he begrudged Scrimgeour his place. Merlin knew he had no desire to hobnob with the Minister and appear at events of international significance. It was more that his old comrade had ceased to be an Auror and become a politician, the last sort of person for which Alastor had any time or respect.

"Coffee, firewhiskey?" Rufus offered genially, seating himself behind his desk.

Alastor stayed by the door, hefting his hip flask in reply. "What is it, Rufus?"

"Have a seat," Rufus said in the same politician's tone.

He didn't move. "We've worked together too long for you to pull the wool over my eyes."

"I'm not about to draw on you, Mad-Eye," Rufus said reasonably. "Sit down so we can talk."

"My knees bending don't affect my mouth any."

Rufus tightened his mouth. When he spoke, there was no trace of the old comrade in his voice. "Sit down, Alastor."

It was the use of his name that did it. Scrimgeour hadn't called him that since being promoted to Head of the office. The thuds of his wooden leg seemed almost comically loud in the silence as he moved toward the chair. Scrimgeour's office was as tough and business-like as the man, with hard, straight chairs and bare walls and floors. Alastor couldn't help but approve, even as he settled into the uncomfortable seat.

"How long have you been with the Aurors, Alastor?" Rufus was still speaking with an edge, but he leaned back in his chair, relaxing his posture.

"Two years longer than you."

"Excellent record, too. Even since You-Know-Who has been gone..."

"If you're going to reprimand me for the Holton case, get on with it, Rufus. I've got work to do today."

"No, you haven't."

Alastor stopped, mouth half-open, and stared at Scrimgeour, his magic eye focusing in on the man. The anger building deep in his gut smoldered in his voice.

"Sacking me, are you?"

"Don't be absurd," Rufus snapped. "One mistake doesn't wipe out a career like yours."

"It wasn't a mistake, it was this blasted leg," Alastor slapped the wooden appendage in fury. "This new one hasn't once worked like it should. I suspect one of -"

"No," Rufus commanded. "Not another unfounded accusation. There's nothing wrong with that leg. It's been inspected five times by three different teams of Aurors and Curse-Breakers. We even had Dumbledore take a pass at it. It's safe as Wizardkind can make it."

"Isn't safe enough."

Rufus took a deep breath and seemed to force his features into the pleasant expression he'd worn when Alastor walked in. "The Minister and I were talking only yesterday of your sterling record, and how we hope to accord it the honor it's due. Fudge even mentioned a Order of Merlin."

Alastor snorted. "A retirement, is it? Cost the department too much these days?"

Rufus raised an eyebrow. "Third trip to St. Mungo's this year."

The fire in his stomach chilled slightly. Alastor swallowed once, tasting bile in it. "Sent a few Dark wizards there, too."

Rufus spread his hands in acknowledgment. Silence settled between the two men. Alastor let his magic eye shift to the door. Lettie was feeding her puffskein, and sure enough, Dawlish was shuffling papers with great self-importance at one of the new desks.

"It doesn't have to be full retirement, Alastor."

"And what the ruddy blazes does that mean?" Alastor snapped. "Think I'll make a nice undersecretary for you?"

"Teaching."

Scrimgeour paused long enough to be sure Alastor wasn't going to interrupt him. "We need Aurors like you to head up the training program. Most of us don't get anywhere near the experience you have. Your knowledge would be invaluable."

"Teach a batch of wet-eared morons? Be serious, man."

Rufus didn't back down from his fury. "It's the best I can offer you. We'll let you choose the best qualified candidates to mentor through the final stages. No first years, I promise."

"Aren't you afraid I'll scare them off the job?" Alastor growled, reaching for his flask in earnest this time. "Demented old Mad-Eye teaching 19-year-olds? Sounds like a pretty scandal for the Prophet, and I know how you like to keep in good standing with them."

A slight tightening of his mouth was the only indication Rufus was getting agitated, but it was enough. Alastor knew from years of experience that he was near pushing too far.

"You've had a truly brilliant career. Fudge knows it as well as I do." Rufus leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. "What he doesn't know is that you'll go truly and completely insane without your work, Alastor."

Alastor tossed back another gulp from his hip flask and stood. His dramatic gesture was undercut as his wooden leg wobbled, sending him lurching toward the desk for support, before settling into place.

"You can tell Fudge to keep his bloody Order of Merlin," he snarled. "I don't need any favors from him."

It took three strides to lock his leg into position, and he was keenly aware of the eyes of Rufus Scrimgeour as he struggled toward the door. Just as he reached toward the handle, his magic eye caught the shapes of two people on the other side. His instinctive shift to the right left him staggering again, but he'd managed to avoid colliding with the pig-tailed girl and Pomona Sprout.

Scrimgeour stood, settling his robes across his shoulders. "Professor Sprout, pleasure to see you. Is this the student you wrote to me about?"

"I'm Tonks," the girl volunteered brightly, grinning at Scrimgeour in cheeky delight.

"That's your surname, I understand," Rufus said in a voice as stiffly bright as Alastor had ever heard from him. On this point they still agreed – any witch or wizard under the age of 17 made them as uncomfortable as a friendly firecrab.

Alastor turned his attention to the girl, whose waifish build made her age difficult to place. He'd guess 14. There was some hint of intelligence in her face, a spark of mischief he mistrusted. Hufflepuff, or she'd not be escorted by Sprout. He huffed a disapproving breath that caught her attention. Her head shot round to meet his eyes.

"Won't you sit down?" Scrimgeour offered, but the girl cut across him.

"Mad-Eye Moody!" she chirped in adolescent glee. "I never thought I'd get to meet – I mean, I keep up with you in the Prophet as best I can – I thought maybe after I graduated and was in the Auror program –"

"Nymphadora," Sprout warned, the name drawing a scowl, but obedient silence, from her pupil.

"You're about to sit your OWLS, correct?" Scrimgeour asked as the girl plopped into a chair.

"Yes, sir, and I want to be an Auror after Hogwarts."

"Worthy ambition." Scrimgeour was doing his best to surreptitiously motion Alastor out the door, but Alastor crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, counting the number of sidelong glances the girl managed to toss his direction. Scrimgeour focused on their guests again. "You understand the requirements, I trust."

"Yes, sir. I'm ready to work hard," the girl said, eyes cutting back to Alastor. "I'm not where I should be in Charms, I know, and I'm dead clumsy, but –"

Alastor had heard enough. He hefted himself off the wall and pointed a gnarled finger at the girl. "And you want me to teach that? I'd rather live out the rest of my days with a lethifold in the house."

He caught the girl's eye as he stumped out the door. She was bitterly disappointed, that was clear, but her eyes still sparkled. He paused for a fraction of a second, but pushed onward. He'd not be caught dead mentoring the likes of Nymphadora Tonks.


End file.
